Lori Linna column: Finding the Holy Spirit

As we near Easter, the next three columns will be devoted to events that helped shape and strengthen my faith. First up is my life-long search for recognizing the Holy Spirit.

Even as a young child I had a general grasp of God and Jesus thanks to my mother sending me to Sunday school. However, I always had a hard time perceiving who or what is the Holy Spirit. Believing it to be beyond my realm of comprehension, I eventually concluded I was never going to get it until a life-altering experience changed my perspective.

A few years ago, when my dad was sick, I was asked to sit with him on the weekends. To pass the time, I would sit on the couch and read a book while he slept in the bed across the room from me.

As much as it pains me to admit the truth, the following is crucial to the story. Without going into a lot of detail, my dad and I did not always agree, which led to long periods of estrangement between us. This lead to 45 years of built-up anger, resentment and bitterness on my conscious. One day, while sitting on the couch, the thought occurred to me that this was an opportunity to let him know my true feelings. I put down my book and rose to my feet, ready to walk the five steps to the side of his bed. Instead, as soon as I stood up, all the anger, hurt, and frustration was instantly replaced with what I can only describe as compassion and pure, unconditional love. It was like somebody flipped a switch. My feet wouldn't move and I immediately sat down, wondering what in the world had just happened.

The next day was Sunday and I decided to attend Bible study at my church. It was the only time I was able to go that year but it had a profound impact on me. The topic of discussion was a story in the Bible about how someone didn't do what he said he was going to do because he had been moved by the Holy Spirit. A lightbulb went off in my head and I realized what had taken place the day before at my dad's house. It was the Holy Spirit that prevented me from doing something I know I would have regretted for the rest of my life. My dad never recovered from his illness, passing away less than a month later.

Since that day, the 45 years of anger and hurt have been washed away and I feel nothing but peace when thinking about my dad. I attribute that feeling as a direct result of being moved by the Holy Spirit. Now I get it.